


He Got Bigger and the World Got Smaller

by gwevyan



Series: Steve Rogers Week [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with NOT a sad ending, Bucky coming to terms with the new Steve Rogers, Gen, M/M, Real Men Know Needlework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwevyan/pseuds/gwevyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired myself with a line in the last story:</p><p>"When Steve followed Bucky into his Army tent that first night, still smelling of smoke, the first thing he'd done was sit down on the ground next to Bucky's cot and darn up all his socks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Got Bigger and the World Got Smaller

Bucky throws himself down on the cot as soon as he gets word that his tent is ready- perks of being a POW, he supposes absently.  Everybody waiting on him hand and foot, hoping to hear the real story from his own mouth.  He bets it’ll all settle back down to normal by Thursday, though.

Whenever the hell Thursday is.

Bucky shuffles over onto his back and pulls one knee up to his chest, grabbing the boot to undo the laces.  He’d slipped off while everybody was just starting to get properly roused and drunk, COs turning their heads just for one day, the great and glorious Captain America being passed around like a trophy everybody wanted to touch for their own good luck.  Bucky should be out there and he knows it.  That’s still Steve, no matter how different he looks, no matter how strange it is to not be the only guy who sees how big his heart is.  But he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to drag Stevie out, too- because of course he’d follow Bucky, of course he would, even though he’s suddenly the talk of the town and everybody’s hero like he always dreamed up when they read 10¢ comic books together, leaning shoulder to shoulder, heads together, Bucky gently thumping him on the chest and reminding him to breathe, the punk, every time his wheezing got a little quick.

Some kinda miracle happened back home, and Bucky just needs to _think_.

Because if he focuses on Steve, he doesn’t have to think about….

His tent flap swings open.

“Buck?” a voice whispers, and even with the new resonance of a bigger chest and stronger lungs, Bucky would know that sound in his sleep.  “You awake?”

Bucky sighs.  “Awake enough to know you should be out there, letting everybody sing ballads about you instead of hiding off over here,” he mutters.

Steve doesn’t answer, just shuffles his way inside, having to twist his shoulders- _Jesus_ , those shoulders, Bucky can barely rest his arm around them anymore, and he has to reach up to do it- to fit in past the tent pole.  He crouches down at Bucky’s side and peers at him through the dusk of the closed tent, all somber-like, but with a shaking in his hands when he grabs at Bucky’s sleeve like he can’t stop himself, has to make sure this one good thing is real.

Bucky knows the feeling.  He’s already rubbing the pocket flap of Steve’s jacket between his fingers, after all.

“You okay?” Steve whispers.

“…Yeah.  Just tired.  You?”  Bucky’s been half wanting to ask him since he first saw him if it hurt when they stretched him out, but he thinks his heart’ll break if he hears just how much Stevie was willing to go through just to follow in Bucky’s footsteps.

“Yeah.  I'm not sorry I came after you."

"Neither am I, if it means you're never gonna get the 'flu again."

"You don't like it, though."

"I don't like it that some crazy scientist shot you up with somethin' insane and magic I know nothin' about?  Or I don't like it that you came charging in to an enemy base practically alone carryin' the stupidest weapon ever?"

Even in the dim light Bucky can see that ducked, sheepish grin.  "Either?"

Well, Bucky just  _has_ to scruff his stupid head for that.

They sit there in silence for a little while, listening to the men cheering and whooping it up outside, riding high on a hell-crazy victory and the return of their troops.  Their hands gravitate together and they hold on tight.  Steve might be trying to convince himself Bucky’s not dead after all, he figures.  Bucky’s just trying to get used to the feeling of a hand bigger than his instead of a scrawny little thing with scraped knuckles.  He closes off his mind to that table, the voices, the burning in his veins, and just narrows down his whole world to his best friend breathing deeply next to him, throwing off warmth even from inches away.

The sunlight dies away and the campfires get bigger.  Finally Steve takes his hand back and hunts around on the ground by touch, coming up with Bucky’s lantern and striking a match to it from a pack in his pocket.  He sets the lantern down and starts rooting through Bucky’s kit bag.

“What’cha lookin’ for?”

“Socks,” Steve mutters.  “You’ve been gone all these months, I’ll bet ya anything- Jesus, Buck, you got any heels left in any of these at all?”

Bucky shrugs as best as he can lying down and fingering Steve’s collar.  “Don’t need your socks clean to kick the Kaiser up the backside.”

Steve snorts.  “What would you do without me, huh?”  He pulls out the standard issue sewing kit they’d all been handed with their uniforms and pulls out needles and thread.  “Gotta get patches sewn in your trousers, too,” Steve mutters, sticking one end of a new thread in his mouth to suck it smooth enough for the needle.  “Or you’re gonna wear right through the knees.”

Bucky rolls on his side facing Steve and closes his eyes, letting the sound of voices outside and Steve clacking his darning needles close by take him back to their thin-walled apartment and Steve sitting on the bed next to him, mending pile heaped up on the floor at his feet.  It's _home_  enough he thinks he might sleep without dreaming on things he doesn't want to see.

“Y’er still a punk,” he mutters, sliding his hand up to clap Steve muzzily on back of his neck.

“You still need somebody around to stop you murdering all the socks with your big chicken feet,” Steve murmurs sweetly, and pulls Bucky’s hand around to smack a kiss on dirty skin before he goes back to his darning.


End file.
